


Coattails

by RacetrackBatsman



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Carnivale (The Terror), Character Study, Episode Related, Gen, Impostor Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 14:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20292724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RacetrackBatsman/pseuds/RacetrackBatsman
Summary: The word echoes in his head. He does not know when it started. He is not sure if it will ever end





	Coattails

The word _fraud_ echoed repeatedly in James’ brain. A constant form of noise much like the Erebus creaking against the pressures of the ice. Some days it was louder. Today it was louder than most; drowning out the normally quite rational side of his brain. It resonated through his mind as Lieutenant Irving ran through the remaining rations. Francis was still indisposed and as such James was having to deliver orders that he worried he was not truly qualified to give.

As the darkness lingered on, in the depths of winter, those feelings seemed more prominent. Darkness bred darkness in mind and heart. Pre-existing thoughts amplified with nothing but the ice to serve as a distraction. It was only a week until first sun. He prayed that the light would bring with it warmth to melt the ice. That the sun would deliver them home. If it did not however, James would have to make the choice to leave. A choice, an option that pressed his fears to the front of his mind.

He requested that Mr. Blanky stay. He needed to solve a problem. Answer a question that had been captive in his mind after overhearing a statement from the man two weeks ago. The Icemaster was a solid presence. The men trusted him, even more so after his battle with the beast. James could see why Francis valued him so highly.

The questions flowed easily over his lips. Alternate meanings hidden beneath fancy phrases. What should he do? How should he care for the men? How could he avoid a situation like what happened to John Ross; where the men began to harbour darker thoughts.

_Reassure me that I’m doing the right thing please. Reassure me that the men are on my side._

He should have known that the same darkness that clouded his mind would exist within the men. A different variation obviously. Based less on inferiority and more on the ever dwindling supply of rations and the strange absence of the commander. The beast at least was a worry gone. He hoped that the men did not see through his façade; that he seemed confident to those outside.

Mr. Blanky suggested giving something in return. If they’re to take something from the men; then something needs to be given. They needed to open the valve and release the pressure before the walk across the ice that was seeming more and more inevitable. James’ mind flicked to the crates that Sir John had stored bellow. Costumes. Disguises. What better way to open the valve than for everyone to pretend, if only for a night, to be someone else. Someone who was not trapped within the ice so far away from what they know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Carnivale.

Word had passed through the ship at James’ request. He had made sure that everyone knew, so that everyone was ready. There was levity in the air for the first time in the midst of the darkness. The beast had not been seen since that night, the sun was due to arrive, and for once things seemed to be moving in the right direction.

James stood before the costume box. His mind running not with the normal phrases of inner doubt, but with ideas of what he should wear. Yes there had been worries about the overuse of supplies for a temporary distraction but it was seeming more certain that they would have to move on.

_But can I truly make that decision without Francis?_

The thought pressed uninvited. Francis still recovering from the addiction that had snared him. Better, yes; but ready to move on if required? James sighed and returned his attention back to the box. Reaching in and wrapping his fingers around the first piece of soft fabric he could find. Something that was different from his heavy uniform. Something light. Something free.

A velvet dress. So different from his uniform. He held it flush against his body, smiling for a moment as he pictured the reactions from the men. Laughter. Fun. Oh how he wanted that as well. Just to forget for a moment where he was. The weight that sat on his shoulder.

_Undeserved._

James lowered the dress and took a drink. He shook the thought from his head before turning back to the box. Attention fixated as a spot appeared on a mask. A spot of red. A spot of blood.

He paused with the bottle by his lips. He lowered his arm and crouched beside the mirror. His thoughts first turning to the possibility of a bloody nose, before lifting his hand and running his fingers along his hair line.

Blood. Fine, pin pricks of blood.

_Scurvy._

The thought is instant. As is the tightness in his chest that follows. Doctor McDonald had said it possible that the lemon juice was losing its strength. This quickly? If they were not to be saved this was a death sentence. This was the begging of the end unless they moved quickly. It would not just be him with the early signs. There would be others. There had to be others who were hiding it. The pressing need to begin the walk, to save not just the men but himself, was blaring in his mind.

_Fraud._

It echoed again. So much louder than before. Francis would know. Sir John would have known. He was not what was needed. He was not ready for this. He did not want to die.

James reached out and ran his fingers across the velvet dress. A calming motion to sooth the rushing thoughts that pressed against his mind.

Time.

They still had time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The idea came fully formed after sleep. Britannia. A personification of home, of success. The helmet and chest plate could be found amongst the costumes and a simple piece of white fabric would service as the dress. It was simple. It was comforting. She seemed the perfect being for James to hide within for a night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time blurs while partying. That was in part the point. You can’t think when you’re drinking. You can’t think where everything is loud and bright. In part James felt successful. The men were releasing the pressure that had built up over the long, dark winter. They were getting rid of supplies that they would not be able to take when they started the long walk south. This was successful! Everything was going to plan. James allowed himself to be swept up in the festivities. Shouting and messing around with the men who he had before tried to keep an air of separation between. They were not so different. They all missed home. They all wanted some fun. There was no harm in that.

James allowed himself to be lifted up. Elevated to the shoulders of the men. He was just as loud as them. Partying just as much.

Eyes met in a hazy room and James felt his heart stop. The laughter died on his lips. Francis was glaring back at him. Outside for the first time in three weeks and this is how he saw the man he left in command?

_Fraud._

The voice returned tenfold from where it had hidden. James dropped from the shoulders of the men and removed his helmet.

_Fraud._

But a fraud of what? A fraud of an officer? Who had earned his place through less than ideal means? Who had hidden his illegitimacy with titles and medals? A fraud of a man? Pretending that he knew what these men were going through daily? Parading around with them as if he were them; rather than being the officer in charge of the situation?

_Fraud._

He pushed through the bodies and went to Francis’ side. Head held high despite the repetition going on in his head. Despite the voice pulling him apart at the seams. Everything was so light before. Then he had seen the disappointment and disgust in Francis’ eyes.

_Fraud._

“Francis,” He spoke, voice stronger than the chaos in his head, “This was my idea. All of it. To get the men ready.”

_Fraud._

“I see now I should have been more vigilant.” An admission. A stark admission that perhaps he was not as perfect as he pretended to be. The voice was silenced for a moment. Francis pressed him on what he meant by ‘get the men ready,’ yet he seemed prepared for the answer all the same. It was obvious in hindsight that Francis would have already formed a plan for the walk. He had been to the Artic before; had been a part of this frozen landscape.

Francis stopped and James drew in close by. He watched as Francis took place above the crowd. Speaking to them clearly without an ounce of the wavering he had when inebriated.

James ignored the pressure in his head as Francis explained the importance of leaving the ships and walking to Fort Resolution. It makes sense. Time is running out and rescue is not coming. They had to save themselves. Home would not wait forever and each man desperately craved returning to the safety of English shores.

Francis fell silent as a gasp drew through the crowd. James inhaled sharply as he caught what had startled the men. The Lady Silence. Covered in blood. Spilling from her mouth like an obscene waterfall. So much red. Coating her skin. Dying the front of her fur suit. So much blood. Goodsir caught her before she fell. Speaking to her in her own language. Francis stood and turned, calling for a doctor before his eyes went wide.

James followed his gaze to the open space where Doctor Stanley now stood with bucket in hand. He watched as the doctor lifted his arm and poured a liquid over his head. Before he could say a word Doctor Stanley lifted a flame to his chest. It took only a moment for the flames to wrap around him and the shocked voiced to rise. He did not have to say a word before other moved forward to extinguish the flames as Doctor Stanley rose his arms. A crucified, burning saint.

He stepped toward the extinguished Doctor. Somewhere he could hear the shouts of ‘fire’. Yet it was gone now surely. He lifted the blanket. There was nothing to be done. Another failure to add to the tally. The shouts of fire seemed more pressing. James rose to his feet and stumbled towards the area set aside for dinning.

The heat hit him before he could comprehend the flames. A type of ferocious heat so unfamiliar. His eyes widened as he spun back around. Francis remained standing above the crowd; yelling orders into the panicked masses. James turned to watch as some of the men tried to escape through another space before being met by more flames.

Panic flared within James’s chest. He had let it get out of control. He should have watched closer; been more attentive of the men. He should have noticed despair in the Doctor’s eyes. Now they were trapped.

_What kind of a leader are you?_

There was no time for those thoughts. He felt his voice in his throat more than he heard it. Sound lost in the cacophony of flames and panic. Ordering men to get to the ice calmly.

If he had kept his sword. If he had worn his uniform and been the officer and commander that he should have been. Perhaps...

The mass of people shifted. Pressure letting up as people flowed through a hole in cut through the canvas. A flood escaping back to the ice so much more familiar than the flame.

James made sure he was one of the last to leave. It had been his idea. It had fallen apart on his watch. He had to be the last to leave.

Outside the canvas his eyes met that of Cornelius Hickey. The man Francis had ordered whipped. His eyes were wide with shock; and maybe, just maybe, a touch of regret. In his hand a bloodied knife. It had been he who had freed the flood. And in turn it had been he who had killed Doctor McDonald whose bloody body lay on the ice. Red blood. Red flames. So much red.

James could not bring himself to say anything to the pale caulkers mate. Whatever he said would simply be added to the guilt the man was already feeling. A guilt that James too felt. His celebration to boost morale. He should’ve seen the signs. Surely there had been some indication of Doctor Stanley’s fading sanity. Surely as Commander he should have seen something!

_Fraud. _

The voice echoed again and it was getting harder to ignore.

_Fraud. _

James squeezed his eyes shut and fought from dropping his head into his hands. He had to remain strong for the men. He had to piece it all back together.

_Fraud._

Yet he was sick. He was faltering. Disaster after disaster and this whole expedition seemed damned. What sort of a man could lead this? How could anyone save this?

From the horizon light flickered. Red sky breaking into the endless darkness. Red sky. Red blood. Red flames. Far too much red.

James opened his eyes and his gaze met that of Francis Crozier. After everything their commander was resolute. His mind fully returned to them once drink had released its hold. James gave the man a short nod and shoved the guilt and insecurity back to the depth of his mind.

Onwards. Ever onwards. The men needed him to be strong. Even if it was pretend he would play his part. A leader to bring the men from the ice. A man worthy of his place in the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> Riding Coattails: to increase one's reputation through connections
> 
> Well. This was something that seized my brain while travelling and as such was written in the back seat of a car at midnight. Also finished off at work. It's probably been done before but this idea and James Fitzjames would not leave my brain alone. Unbetad, so I hope it is all good.
> 
> Feedback is greatly appreciated!


End file.
